still dark

warm bed


gulls call for the dawn

thoughts drift south to the sea


at the station

air cold hard as concourse floor

travellers hunched into jackets


my walk begins past closed shops

a morning delivery

six wheelie bins outside flat 28B

an eruption of tarmac

tree’s roots bursting through the fractured crust

two blackbirds bickering

Silverdale Road

first sight of a still sea that will lead me home

heart in mouth

a staged romance


the west wind has combed the winter trees 

down the bare back of the hill

the sea is yards of French-grey silk 

the sun weaves through its silver threads


the weight of everything behind me

the miles of earth left to walk